Fleeting Touches
by barefoot11
Summary: #2: Arthur's concocting a new spell, one he's sure will take the cake, but it ends up taking some/one/ else... Human names used, drabbles
1. Cold

The wind captured the curtains in a wide sweep, and the snow fell within. Matthew – with a relieved sigh – closed the window shut. It was the last portal to the outside, and now he could roast in the warmth that was in his house without worrying about losing it all. And no ribbons of frigid wind could greet him, either. He sat heavily down on his couch, his arms crossed tightly and his shoulders quaking. Slowly, the warmth seeped through his skin and heated his bones.

Music from the night sang to him, as it continued to remain draped like a blanket over his roof and cascaded over his glass windows. Only a warm cup of cocoa could make the conclusion to Matthew's day better.

And Gilbert could make it worse.

The door slammed open so suddenly, and it hit the wall. A gust of wind instantly filtered into his home, depleting the warmth Matthew had longed to find. A drawled "H-H-Holy fuck!" reached his ears. Gilbert sauntered in, and then shut the door behind him with his boot. Snow fell from the bottom of his feet, and as he moved, it also fell from his shoulders, hair and legs.

Matthew felt many degrees warmer just watching how cold the other was. He simply stared blearily at Gilbert, watching as his furious personality arrived despite the temperature.

"Holy fuck," he repeated, placing his arms out horizontally, and wet snow dripped from his elbows. "It just suddenly started snowing! What the hell's up with that, Mattie?" He spoke as if the other was the cause of the weather.

Continuing to sit in the corner of his couch, and his legs pulled up against his chest, Matthew looked weary. He tenderly replied, "I don't know… it just happens. You probably should have worn more than just a jacket and boots." He looked at the snow that was caking the entryway of his house. Once it melted, it would be so troublesome to clean up…

Gilbert didn't seem to care about his mess. He did stomp his feet, as if trying to get more snow onto the carpet. He shivered, ignoring the other's advice. "I'm so cold, it's totally not awesome." Maybe he should have called ahead, instead of visiting so impulsively, and he would have known about the weather conditions. But that wasn't awesome, either. He released a shuddering breath, since the house's warmth wasn't affecting him properly.

Matthew walked over to assist him in pulled off his jacket, and to possibly put it away for him. It was the hospitable thing to do. But instead, he found frigid arms wrapped around his midsection. He recoiled from the touch, for the sudden impact of cold frazzled his senses. A squeak came from his lips, as he was safely away from the cold. Still, his face flushed. "What was that for?"

Seeming to be disappointed at the lack of contact, Gilbert frowned. His arms were still held out, as if waiting for them to be filled again. "Ah, but you're so warm. And I'm so cold." He whined, "Come on." And he moved to hug the younger again, but he found his arms empty. "Why not?"

Matthew had scooted out toward his kitchen. He was shivering from the brush with freezing temperatures. "J-Just get a blanket; it'll warm you up much better than I could." He even offered to get it for him.

Gilbert took his as some sort of game, and grinned wickedly. "Ready or not, here I come!" The surprised shout that responded to him was extremely satisfying.

"Gilbert, no!" Matthew yelped, retreating into the kitchen. "I just got warmed up. You don't know how long it took." He didn't feel like freezing again.

But Gilbert ran forward anyway, hugging him until they were both comfortably warm again. His smile was like a child's

Matthew relented, but only that once.

* * *

**A/N**: I'm probably going to turn this into one of those long drabble-things with a word being the prompt, since this is too terrible to be a one-shot. I have a list of prompts already (my reading vocabulary list, ha!) but you could suggest something if you want.

This shouldn't get in the way of my multi-chapter, I'll probably only update this when I have writer's block.

…-has writer's block-


	2. Maze

Heavily scented mist injected itself in the air around him. Reluctantly, he inhaled it, instantly choking and spitting. A sparkling and dusty figment of magic swirled about, and Arthur frowned.

"How…?"

No wide walls sprouted above him. Nothing even similar to plants formed.

"Why isn't it working?"

Black cloak clinging to his shoulders, it lifted as he turned around in haste. His lips made the words on the page, but he couldn't find any error in his methods.

"Bloody hell…" he emitted, mystified.

Thundering and patterned pounds echoed throughout the building. In his sudden and capsizing terror, Arthur fell forward on weak knees. As he attempted to at least sit up, he rose and held onto the table with the palms of his hands. He stared blankly at the door before him, terrified, as the noises came closer and closer to his person.

Someone called his name loudly, and he winced. He knew the voice – he knew the accent that mangled it. With a curse, he stood on his heels, and at that moment, the door parted for a visitor.

Hand in hand, a very enthusiastic pair entered. Or, one of them expressed an oblivious joy, while the other's face fell in embarrassment at interrupting something.

"What… could you possibly… want…?" Arthur hissed, panting as his horror slid like sand from his body. In a tentative move, he looked over his shoulder, making sure that he hadn't knocked down anything in his fright.

Pulling his partner closer to his side, Gilbert stretched an arrogant grin over his lips. "I was just wondering if you've seen Francis. I need to tell him 'bout the bet I just won."

After punching his shoulder, Matthew quietly said, "I'm still not sure how I feel about this 'bet' of yours…"

Though confusion knitted his eyebrows together, and a slight gear clicked at the close proximity of the others, Arthur simply shook his head. "Why would I care where that bloody frog was?"

"Told you it was a bad idea," Matthew chastised, trying to find the anger that was soon to erupt in the shorter blonde's eyes.

Gilbert, smiling even wider, ignored the bespectacled boy at his side and casually admitted to Arthur, "Well, I was sure you two'd be doing it in a closet somewhere..."

Arthur frowned: a deep and irritated gesture, showing how his anger had subsided into pure rage. "You insufferable –" His threat died upon his lips, for he turned to grab a bottle of –… _something_ on the table behind him. Whatever he was, he was sure that if he tossed it, the glass would rip the other's smug grin and the liquid inside would harm in some way.

Meek in his actions, Matthew dropped the other's hand to walk across the old floorboards. "Arthur, please, you'll hurt someone with that," he cried, exasperated, and reached to take the bottle from Arthur's fingers. "Gilbert didn't mean it…"

A low rumbling, something slow at first, grew in its intensity until it seemed to be right on top of them. Uneasily, Matthew moved away from Arthur, thinking that the shorter male was the center of the noise. Or maybe he just wanted to stand beside Gilbert. Then, a rolling movement formed under their feet, similar to the roaring waves of an impatient ocean, and Matthew lost his footing. He attempted to grab onto a chair for support, but the chair unknowingly had wheels and pushed him further away from his companions.

"Matt!" Gilbert called, a bit of unusual trepidation in his voice as he reached out.

A faraway squeak of Matthew's voice responded him before the world seemed to explode from beneath them.

Something huge – something inhuman – tore open the floor before their eyes, shading their view to something nonexistent. The large threats of movement continued across the whole floor – the sounds diminishing as the growths were farther away.

Only when complete silence engulfed them did Gilbert even dare tear his eyes open. Still, darkness was before him. Annoyed, he steadied himself with the help of the solid wall that suddenly formed in front of him. "Matt?" He shouted, and in an afterthought tried, "Artie?"

"What?" Irritability was clearly evident in the growl of Arthur's voice.

Jumping at how quickly and closely the other had responded, Gilbert frantically searched with his eyes until they adjusted to the darkness.

Candlelight suddenly flickered from his left, and he uneasily turned.

Numb in his expression, and immobile in his motions, Arthur stared Gilbert straight on. He opened his mouth…

"What the hell's going on?" Gilbert demanded.

"If you had remained quiet long enough, I would have told you," Arthur snapped with a sudden fervor, annoyed at the other's premature interruption. Keeping the candle steady in its holster, Arthur sighed and tried, "I had cast a spell for a… well, a _maze_. It didn't appear immediately, like I thought. Then you guys came in… then it rose." It was as simple as that, but much more dangerous.

Sputtering indecisively, Gilbert shouted, "What the fuck? Why would you want to make a freaking _maze_?"

Embarrassment painted itself red across his cheeks. "Well, you see, that's…" He attempted to find a more… suitable answer, but only the truth showed. "…Well, for Halloween, to scare Alfred. He's 'fraid of the dark, you know."

"Halloween's two weeks away!"

"Practice," Arthur huffed quickly.

"Damn your stupid competition," Gilbert spat ruthlessly, tapping his foot against the ground that had suddenly bloomed in grass. And all at once, he nearly bent double in alarm. "Wait, where's Matthew?"

"Matthew?" Arthur echoed, first in bewilderment, but then in dismay. "Matthew… He's stuck somewhere else, bloody hell."

Twisting his fingers around the fibers at the end of his shirt, Gilbert tried his best not to strangle the other before him. If he did, then he'd have no idea how to escape. "We have to find him. He's not dumb, but he'd probably feel better if we found him…"

Arthur exhaled, a curse word riding on the breath. "Yeah. I can probably find the exit by tracing the magic alongside, but as for Matthew… we'll just have to see if we encounter him along the way."

For once, Gilbert didn't tease the other over his belief in all things mystical. He only nodded, as if he understood. "Can't you just… make it go 'poof', or something?" he asked, gesturing vaguely with his fingertips.

In a counter response, Arthur motioned around them. "I've got no books – no tools – no magic."

"What a worthless magician you are."

"I'm not a fucking magician! I'm a –…"

Anger, like a searing blade, sliced through the air and left an empty aura of silence. They pattered along in their thoughts for a while, until Gilbert relented, "Lead the way then, Houdini."

"I'm not –"

"Go, damn it!"

They stumbled on, Arthur going first with his candle in front of him. The globe of light that came from it illuminated the corners. As they walked, Gilbert looked up and saw that the walls reached up beyond where the ceiling used to be. Also, the walls were lined in a thick coat of weeds, and when Gilbert brushed his fingers against it, he was almost immediately caught on a thorn.

Oh yeah, Alfred surely would have a field day in that place.

Gilbert made it a point to say so, but before he could open his mouth, he saw something unarming. "Hey, Artie," he cried, reaching out to him. "Your hand… it's…"

Arthur's movements remained fluid, and he didn't seem to register the words coming from Gilbert's mouth. His pace was brisk, and after his paralyzing shock, Gilbert had to hurry to catch up to him.

"Your hand…!" Gilbert tried again, but Arthur wasn't responsive. He winced, realizing that whatever 'magic' Arthur was using was probably keeping him in a trance.

Weary, Gilbert ducked his head, and followed the trail of blood before his feet.

* * *

It was annoying, how, after at least twenty minutes, the silence had continued. Gilbert had begun talking aimlessly after a while, but Arthur wasn't verbally responsive, and he could only talk to himself for so long. He made himself useful, though, by trying to get Matthew's attention.

"Mattie…" At first, Gilbert's voice had been loud and vibrant, but now it was simply tired. "Birdie… come out, come out, wherever you are…"

"Gilbert?"

Gilbert froze. Unfortunately, Arthur kept going. "Artie," he called, "I… I think I heard Matthew." He tried again, "Mattie, where are you?"

"Gilbert!"

Arthur paused, sliding out of his trance. "That's Matthew, alright… but he's not on the correct path out of here. He stopped…" His eyes were glazed and far-off. "He stopped at a dead end."

Gilbert shook his head and pulled an incredulous expression. "So what? We have to get him!"

Sighing at the other's denseness, Arthur pointedly said, "I need to get out of here so that I can uncast the spell. Then, we'll find Matthew." He turned, taking in the other's wild eyes. "You have to _remain calm_."

Glaring daggers at him, Gilbert didn't say anything else other than, "Your hand is bleeding…"

Arthur became alarmed, and looked down. Sure enough, thick drops of blood were falling from his fingertips. "…The thorns," he figured, frowning, "I must have been running my fingers along the wall." He winced, clenching his hand a few times. "Ow…"

* * *

It took what seemed like hours. Finally Arthur stopped in front of his table – the one from earlier that held all of his supplies. "Alfred'll never get out of that," he said to himself, sounding proud despite the situation. He flipped open his book, staining it upon impact.

Gilbert was impatient. The tapping of his foot created a distant melody. "How long is this going to freakin' take?" he finally asked.

"Silence," said Arthur, before he began uncasting.

It was truly a sight Gilbert was glad to behold – if for the singular reason of that it gave him something to make fun of the Englishman for later.

Once again, the walls around them began to shake. They shuddered and sputtered – and Gilbert was fleetingly afraid that Arthur had performed wrong; maybe the walls would come alive – before, with a loud groaning noise, disappeared into the floorboards.

There was no trace of them ever being there – and the room went back to its compacted size, having been stretched with the walls.

Everything looked fine.

"Mmmm, Arthur? I was just wondering, do you have…" But that light and airy voice dispersed. Francis's head peeked through the doorway, his eyebrows compressed, trying to make sense of what he saw.

Matthew was cowering against the back wall, his head hidden behind his knees; Gilbert looked as if he'd seen a ghost, with all of the color gone from his face and his posture completely stiff; and Arthur stood placidly, leaning with one hand against his table, while the other dripped blood to the floor.

"Did I miss some sort of party…?" Francis asked, off.

Gilbert shook his head wildly, but not in response to Francis – he just needed to clear his head. "Mattie!"

And Matthew's head rose.

"Mattie." Gilbert smiled. "I found you!"

Francis frowned. "Where'd he go?"

"Shut up, frog," Arthur demanded. "This is your fault!"

Francis didn't even want to ask.

* * *

Epilogue:

Francis tipped back his wine glass, sipping some of the liquid before giving a small scowl. "I guess I owe you that twenty dollars, then."

"Hell yeah," Gilbert agreed, pocketing the money after Francis had brought it out. "I told you."

With a heavy sigh, Francis spared a smile. "I'm sorry for not believing you – but who could have guessed that you'd stolen _Mathieu_'s heart? Even _I_ didn't see it."

Gilbert kesesesesesese'd.

* * *

**A/N**: This could have been so much better, but after working on it for over four months (off-and-on), I just decided to half-ass it. But it's only in my drabble collection, so it really shouldn't be good. xD


End file.
